


My Dear Inquisitor

by neko_fish



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko_fish/pseuds/neko_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen isn't very good at writing letters so Leliana and Josephine decide to step in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Dear Inquisitor

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [conversations overheard in Skyhold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1y3tXV7tkE) (the last 20 seconds). Also, thank you for putting up with my 4am idea spammage, ling!
> 
> I'll be keeping the Inquisitor name-free because I always enjoy picturing my own quiz in fics, and I find that it's harder to do when different names are used. If you're curious though, you can see what my quiz looks like [here](http://selfish-cat.tumblr.com/tagged/my-quiz).

**_My Dear Inquisitor,_ **

**_I trust this message will find you well. Everything is running smoothly at Skyhold. Recruits continue to pour in from all over Thedas, their numbers almost match the number of birds flying in and out of the rookery. I managed to procure one of Leliana’s birds by luring it through the hole in the roof with a literal trail of bread crumbs. It’s perched on my desk now and hasn’t flown off. Yet. Hopefully, I will be able to send this missive before Leliana notices its absence. I suspect this only gives me until the hour’s end._ **

**_Although it is never quiet, there is a distinct stillness that settles over the place when you are gone. During these brief moments of calm, my thoughts always turn to you, knowing that as surely as there’s a breach in the sky, you’re burning just as brightly elsewhere._ **

Cullen pauses, scratching his head, the words in his head trailing off into stuttered silence. His brows furrow and he glances over at the crow, preening its feathers and looking over every so often expectantly, although whether it’s for food or the letter to deliver, he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t pretend to understand birds.

**_Anyway…_ **

His hand continues moving, filling the page with the only thing that comes to mind: a report on their latest operations.

It’s not exactly the romantic letter he had in mind when he started, but he can see one of the messengers in the distance and has no intention of going through the trouble of luring another bird in through the roof. Signing off, he rolls the message up and attaches it to the bird’s leg, then stepping out the side door, he sends it off.

\--

There’s a familiar caw and Leliana stretches out her arm, letting the crow perch atop it. “You’re late,” she tells it. It blinks and starts preening. That’s when she notices the letter attached to its leg. “Oh? This shouldn’t be here.”

She takes it off and unrolls it and reads the contents.

A long moment after, she mutters, “Oh dear.”

Without delay, she takes the letter downstairs and slips into Josephine’s office where the ambassador was immersed in letter writing, probably winning over favours with every carefully crafted word. “Josie.”

Josephine gives a start and looks up from her work. “Leliana! I didn’t hear you come in!” Then she smiles, her composed demeanor back in place. “I suppose that’s why you’re the spymaster and not me. What can I do for you?”

“Take a look at this,” Leliana says, handing the letter over.

Blinking, Josephine takes it and reads it over, her eyebrows creeping higher and higher. “Oh my goodness.”

She nods. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, it certainly _sounds_ like something our dear Commander would write,” Josephine tries. “I suppose you’ll be sending this to the Inquisitor as it is?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t tamper with the Commander’s personal letters,” Leliana says solemnly, “as much as I would like to.”

Josephine glances down at the letter again, her lips curved downwards into a frown. “Me too. I wish I could make…minor adjustments to it. It could be so much better! No woman wants to hear that they resemble a demon-spawning tear in the sky.”

“Nor do they want to be dismissed to hear about reports.” Leliana smiles and takes a step closer to the desk, an idea coming to mind. “You know, Josie, we can’t do anything about this letter, but maybe we can help the Commander…improve in future ones. I’ve got a nice cache of love letters and reports I can read to him,” Leliana suggests. “Some of them were quite well written.”

The ambassador looks up, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, yes, of course! This will require some degree of discretion. Let me find old missives from Orlais, they always use such beautiful language, especially when writing out threats. Perhaps he’ll find their poetry inspiring. You cannot imagine the rhyming scheme thoughts of murder can bring out in people sometimes.”

\--

“Inquisitor. Report for you, ser,” the officer says with a salute and an unreadable look on her face.

“What is it?”

A letter is handed over and the officer refuses to make any further eye contact. Curious, the Herald of Andraste unravels it on her way over to the potions table. Halfway there, she stops to reread the letter again, with more concentration this time. A little confused but mostly amused and warmed with affection, she stands there laughing to herself.

“Bright like the sun but brilliant as the moon. She shines like a beacon, so far away but within reach. Within my reach. Always, I hope. Beautiful. Strong but soft. Her smile takes the breath away. Eyes like gems, but more. So much more. Distinct and unmistakable. Irreplaceable. Like what? How do I best describe it? Like the Breach? Beautiful and life-changing, but in a good way. I miss her. I miss her. Is she well? Is she worried? She shouldn’t be. We have all these reports of success she should know about. How do I tell her? Skyhold feels empty. Like a shell of a home without her. I hope the bird doesn’t fly away,” a quiet voice comes from next to her.

She turns around and smiles, her eyes softer this time. “Thank you, Cole.”

\--

“So? What did you think of it?”

Cullen’s brows are furrowed as he rests his chin on his entwined fingers. “It was certainly colourful. Is there a reason why you’re reading threat poems to me, Ambassador? Are we being threatened by a poet?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Josephine quickly reassures him. “These are quiet old, before we went to Halamshiral. It just came to mind and I thought I would share some poetry with you.”

“Well, it never occurred to me that ‘Qunari dreadnought’ and ‘foxtrot’ rhymed with ‘garrotte’,” he admits.

Josephine sighs, a tad bit dreamily, her mind taking her back to her brief days as a bard. “The Orlesians write some of the most romantic poetry. I wish I had some to show you.”

He arches a brow and asks slowly, “Why?”

Snapping back to reality, she blinks and half-shrugs. She looks a little sheepish, though he could easily be imagining it. The last word he would ever associate with their ambassador is ‘sheepish’.  He blinks and it’s gone, and she’s smiling—an embodiment of dignity and diplomacy. “Why not? Orlesian poetry is beautiful and should be enjoyed by all. Even during times like these, or, maybe _especially_ at times like this, it’s important to remember that there are still beautiful things in life. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”

A wistful air fills the room. He softens, his thoughts drifting towards a very specific direction. “You may be right about that.” There’s the faint sound of wings flapping above them followed by a soft caw in the bedroom above where he left the bread crumbs. “Be that as it may though, I do have work to do still.”

**_My Dear Inquisitor,_ **

\--

Leliana scans the letter over before passing it over to Josephine. “I’m afraid he took away the wrong message from those poems, Josie.”

Exasperated, the ambassador takes her turn reading it. “Do you think he’s doing this on purpose?”

“I doubt it. Cullen’s not that good an actor. You can always tell which part of dinner he likes the most by looking at his face,” Leliana says.

Josephine’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “I was not aware Ferelden cooking had more than one ‘part’. I have always just thought it as a grey stew.”

“It’s probably better that way if Alistair’s cooking was anything to go by,” the spymaster says, her nose wrinkling at the memory. “Why don’t I give it a shot this time? Maybe the Commander will find my examples more inspirational.”

\--

**_Yours always,_ **

**_Cullen_ **

**_PS: Josephine was just in here showing me Orelesian threats. Were you aware of how many words rhyme with “garrotte”? I certainly wasn’t._ **

“Halamshiral. Crowded by ridiculous strangers, always grabbing. Worried. Relief. She’s there. She’s safe. A dance. Even if it never happens again, we should dance under the moonlight tonight. Stomach clenching. Heart beating. Maker, she’s beautiful. How can anyone compare? Even during times like this, Josephine said. It’s during times like this that makes her even more dazzling. How did I get so lucky? The bloodshot chap who shot the stinkpot a lot decided to garrotte the hotshot while shooting at the Qunari dreadnought and doing the foxtrot,” Cole adds helpfully.

Largely confused but still amused, the Inquisitor says, “Thank you, Cole.”

“Hey, boss, need help crafting a reply?” the Iron Bull offers.

That gets a derisive scoff out of Dorian. “You? _You’re_ offering to reply to a love letter? A poorly written one, but a love letter nonetheless.”

The Iron Bull huffs and gives an offhanded wave in reply. “Nah, love letters and sappy poetry aren’t my thing, but if she wants to heat things up a little, then _that_ I can help with.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case. Allow me to help as well, I have a number of…ideas I wouldn’t mind sharing,” Dorian offers.

Sera lets out a loud appreciative whistle. “ _Woof_.”

Even Solas, as discreet and respectful as he’s trying to be, can’t hide his grin.

\--

“‘…My love, wherever we may be, remember that we look up and see the same sky. When the moon is in the sky, I shall remember your gentle elegance when you graced me with your presence. And when I smell the sweet fragrance of a rose, I shall think of you dancing in the gardens on that summer day and the sweet surrender of our embrace that followed, of the melodic din of your voice, and of you surrounded by hundreds of roses. Yours eternally, A.’”

He stifles a yawn and frowns tiredly. “That was absolutely lovely, Leliana—except that last bit. Did they do it in a _rose bush_? Why would anyone do that? And why are you reading this to me? I’m sure Josephine would appreciate being read these kinds of letters a lot more than me.”

Leliana shrugs, keeping her expression expertly blank. “I’ve already shared it with her. Josie thought it very romantic, so I thought I’d share it with you as well to see if you share her sentiments.”

“Then, thank you for thinking of me,” he says politely, “I suppose.”

“You know, Commander, I find that our thoughts often reach out to the ones we love during these…brief moments of calm.”

Cullen pauses, eyes narrowing at the familiarity of the phrase. “…yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

\--

“His letters aren’t improving,” Josephine sighs.

Her arms crossing, Leliana shakes her head. “Not in the least.”

“Out of all the beautiful gems in the world, why would he choose metals to use as comparisons? And the reports! Always going on with the reports! I cannot comprehend it. Perhaps it is time we throw away discretion?” Josephine suggests hopefully.

Leliana nods in agreement, a mischievous smile on her lips. “You may be right, Josie. After all, our dear Commander has always learned faster being taught directly, no?”

\--

“Looking at the same sky. We are, aren’t we? Blast this leaky roof. Does she think of me? I think of her. Always. My love. As strong as any metal. As lovely as any flower. Flowers. Perhaps I can give her flowers when she returns and surprise her. Will she return soon? I hope she returns soon. Her laugh when she teases. He smile when our eyes meet. Her warmth. _Her_. During these moments…wait, during these brief moments of calm. A direct quote. Leliana. She knows. Does she? How? Coincidence? Who would do it in a rose bush? The thorns would prickle and sting. Who would even?” Cole says.

The Herald laughs, her shoulders shaking. “It sounds like my advisors are having fun. I don’t suppose I should tell Cullen about how half the group has read his letters.”

“Tell him I’m particularly curious about the bit about the rose bush. Also, maybe you should recommend he read _Swords and Shields_ for romance tips, isn’t that right, Seeker?” Varric teases.

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise but then concedes, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, but I think it’s very sweet of the two of you to write each other like this.”

“Very sweet. Melts the very soul,” Varric agrees. “Oh, I also have a book of dirty limericks I could lend you—once Tiny’s finished with it anyway. It was a gift from Isabela.”

“Varric, darling, there’s no need to be crude,” Vivienne says. “Poetry is poetry.”

Correcting himself with an amused scoff, Varric says, “Right. My bad. I have a lovely book of bawdy _poetry_ I could lend you, though, if you walk into the tavern, I’m pretty sure you’ll hear the Chargers chanting a good number of them.”

“The tavern. Skyhold. Soft. Strong. Solace. Safety and warmth. Skyhold where they’re all waiting. Where _he’s_ waiting. Home.” Cole blinks in realization and looks over at her, a rueful frown on his lips. “I’ve made you sad. I’m sorry.”

There’s a flicker of longing behind the Herald’s eyes but she shakes her head and it’s gone and replaced by strength and reassurance. “No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate you reading the letters. It means a lot to me.” A pause. “My mind’s still a little caught up on the rose bushes though. Why _would_ anyone do it in a rose bush?”

“Maybe some people find the extra sensation pleasing,” Blackwall says with an offhanded shrug, ignoring the looks they all give him.

\--

“Commander, it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Leliana says, approaching him by the barracks. “Look at all those stars glimmering and sparkling. Don’t they remind you of something?”

“Yes, and the moon too,” Josephine suddenly says, joining them. “So bright and wondrous. It makes you think, doesn’t it? Of connections, of things, of _certain people_?”

They did, but he wasn’t about to admit it aloud—not when he’s being cornered by his fellow advisors who are looking at him rather predatorily tonight. It reminds him of Mia, that look she got right before she shoved him into the lake. Instead of answering, he narrows his eyes suspiciously and asks, “What is it supposed to make me think of exactly?”

“I don’t know, of someone’s eyes perhaps?” Leliana suggests offhandedly. “Or maybe their glowing personality? To compare someone’s eyes to the stars is far more romantic than, say, comparing them to the Breach.”

Cullen all but jumps back, pointing an accusing finger at the two. “I knew it! You read my letters, didn’t you? You _and_ Josephine!”

“The first one wasn’t intentional,” Leliana admits, “but that’s the risk you take when take one of my birds.”

“Like I said before, I _borrowed_ it. It’s not the same thing,” he protests.

Leliana waves him off, unconvinced but unwilling to get into that argument. “Right, well, anyway, we would have left it alone, but that first letter had a lot of…room for improvement, and so did all the other ones. So Josie and I took it upon ourselves to nudge you in the right direction—for the Inquisitor’s sake.”

He gapes, everything coming together in his head. “ _That’s_ why you suddenly decided to bring up all the death threat poetry and black mail love letters about sex in rose bushes. I am not a poet or a bard. What made you think I would draw inspiration from that kind of stuff?”

Having lived in the circle for so long, based on exposure alone, he suspects he would be better at writing raunchy missives rather than heartfelt romantic ones. Even now, he remembers a particularly interesting one written by that mage who constantly attempted to escape from the circle—something about electricity and currents.

“Don’t get us wrong, Commander, we are completely in support of your endeavors. We think it’s sweet and it’s great that you and the Inquisitor have this form of communication, but must you address her as the ‘Inquisitor’ even in your personal letters? And why are you including reports?” Josephine asks.

Pausing, Cullen considers this. “I suppose you have a point there.” He heaves a sigh and lets his shoulders sag in defeat. “Very well then. Let me see your notes.”

The two of them exchange surprised glances.

He arches a brow. “You two _did_ take notes, didn’t you? With the way you’re critiquing me, I would’ve expected a full report from you.”

Leliana throws her head back and laughs, sounding younger than he’s ever heard her, a faint glimpse of the light-hearted and playful woman she used to be. It would’ve been a lovely sound if not for the context and the current topic of conversation. He wishes she would turn her attention back to pranking Josephine. “This isn’t a formal assessment of your writing skills, Cullen. Josephine may have drafted new letters for you to send, but I was thinking we could just talk this through.”

“Andraste preserve me! Don’t tell me you mean to hover over my shoulders as I write?” Cullen asks, aghast.

“That does seem a little bit intrusive,” Josephine agrees, not denying the bit about her drafted letters (because they _are_ there—tucked away in the top drawer of her desk, just in case). “What would you suggest then, Commander Cullen? We are here to aid you, but this should be something you’re comfortable with.”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, he glances around, trying to think of something he wouldn’t be too opposed to. He’s mostly over his letters being read already, partially because he was half expecting it to happen (he _did_ grow up with three siblings) and partially because he’s a little grateful for the offered help, though the confrontation was somewhat of a surprise. “Well, I don’t know if there’s anything I’d be _comfortable_ with per se, and I’m certainly not going to have an open discussion about what I write. …maybe you can just write notes on my draft?”

The two smile, a silent conversation taking place between them. “That sounds perfect, Commander.” They give him a push towards his office. “Come on, let’s get writing!”

“What? _Now_? Can’t this wait until the morning at least!?”

\--

The Inquisitor blinks as she reads the most eloquently written love letter she has ever laid her eyes upon. It makes her cheeks flush and her heart skip a beat. But the difference between this and the previous letters is a little too drastic to go unnoticed.

Did someone else write this for him?

Flipping to the second page, she arches a brow at what appears to be a draft of the letter covered in corrections and notes.

**_~~My Dear Inquisitor,~~ _ **

_We talked about this._

_L_

**_My Love,_ **

_Better?_

_Cullen_

_Much._

_Josephine_

**_~~I have been kindly informed by our Spymaster and Ambassador that my personal letter writing skills are lacking. With their wisdom and guidance, I will endeavor to correct this.~~ _ **

_Very funny._

_L_

_Won’t she find it strange if my writing suddenly changes?_

_Cullen_

_You can explain it in your next letter. I’m sure that will make her appreciate the gesture all the more._

_Josephine_

**_~~The armourer found new schematics. I had some of my recruits test a basic iron version of it. So far, its greatest strength appears to be its flexibility. With the materials you bring back from the Hissing Wastes, I’m sure we’ll be able to outfit you with new and improved armour for your next journey.~~ _ **

_No metal or armour talk—and absolutely NO REPORTS!_

_Josephine_

_Unless you were trying to allude to flexibility in a different…context, Commander?_

_L_

_NO._

_Cullen_

**_How do I best describe it? The way you’re constantly on my thoughts ~~—Leliana just threatened to blackmail me into another game of Wicked Grace if I mention the breach in the sky. Maker’s breath, this is impossible.~~_ **

_This is a really good start, actually. But do refrain from mentioning the tear in the sky. Breeches are fine—breaches are not._

_Josephine_

_Breaches of a different kind are also fine, but this isn’t that kind of letter._

_L_

_You just HAD to go there, didn’t you?_

_Cullen_

**_Every morning, I look to the sky filling with colour, letting my first thoughts drift to you. Like the dawn, you feel like the first glimmer of light that has entered my life after a long, endless night. When you’re not here, it feels as though the very sun has disappeared from the sky and we are all left in the dark. But I know you will return. However long it takes, I will keep the peace here and wait for you to come home._ **

_This is embarrassing. Must we continue?_

_Cullen_

_Yes. Keep writing._

_L_

_This is wonderful! Goodness, my heart! There may be a writer in you yet, Commander._

_Josephine_

“The Inquisitor. My Inquisitor. _Our_ Inquisitor. Worry and concern. Fear and hurt. Is she safe? Is she warm? Maker, keep her safe. We should send blankets. Clothes. Food. Scouts. Soldiers. Shelter. Keeping her in our thoughts. Beloved and never alone. Does she know? A light in the vast darkness. Keep it bright. Keep it safe. Has she sealed the rifts? Will she return? We must welcome her. An embrace. Warm food. A hot bath. Let her know we’re thinking of her. Let her know we were waiting. _Are_ waiting. Always waiting to welcome her home. Waiting for the dawn to come.” Cole looks at her. “Your advisors miss you very much.”

Taking a look at her companions, their eyes warm and understanding, then at the map on the operations table and all the rifts that have been sealed, she rolls it up and announces, “Please inform the others that we’re packing up. I think it’s about time we went home.”

**Author's Note:**

> The real victim was the officer who had to deliver the letter to the Inquisitor. Soon after this, Leliana gives Cullen a bird of his own as a more private means of communication. Cue the raunchy letters.


End file.
